


Ring

by mytholora



Series: Doropetra Week 2020 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Doropetra, Doropetra Week (Fire Emblem), F/F, Ring (1998)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23409841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytholora/pseuds/mytholora
Summary: After the first few centuries (and thousands of victims), you think you've seen it all. Of course, you are proven wrong.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary
Series: Doropetra Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682581
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Ring

The water dripping from your body pools around your feet and seeps through the wooden floorboards beneath you. You are bent over on all fours, limbs stretched out almost inhumanely, long dirty brown hair curtaining your face, as it always is whenever you are summoned. You can still feel the dull static buzz of the television screen in your chest, lingering at the tips of your fingers and toes.

It’s a dreadfully familiar sensation.

“Fascinating.”

“Oh my god."

You slowly stand up, your head moving slowly to look at the source of the sounds, muscles groaning from the effort. You notice several things as your long hair splits apart slightly, allowing one bloodshot eye to peek through.

The room is messy, decorated with books and photos and papers all over the place. A pile of clothes on the floor. You can hear the faint hum of a television behind you. Then, your attention is immediately taken by the woman sitting in front of you, long, dark purple braids trailing over her shoulder, eyes flitting up and down your form as her hand furiously moves across the book on her lap.

You move and take one step forward. The girl puts out one hand, the other still moving on paper. “Stop!”

You stop.

“Please, do not be moving.”

You don’t move.

You drip even more water on the floor but you’re still and quiet as she watches you carefully, eyes brimming with excitement. You’re very confused. This is not what you expected. You’ve never received this kind of reaction before.

“Oh my god, we’re going to die. She just stepped out your TV,” There is another girl cowering in the corner of the cramped room, blabbering as her face turns ashen white, “Petra, I know I say I want to die a lot but I never, ever meant it literally, oh my god. Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“The curse was being true, then.” The braided purple-haired one,  _ Petra _ , says, ignoring her friend, still focusedly sketching and talking… talking to...  _ her?  _ “I am sorry to be asking much of you, miss ghost, but will you do me the greatest favour by turning to your right?”

You acquiesce, confused beyond belief at what little your brain can comprehend as you slowly do as you’re told. “ _...grhhgh? _ ”

“Yes, that is perfect!” Petra exclaims and you take the time you’re given to process exactly what is happening. You see the tape and VCR and TV screen still flashing a dark, sinister ring out the corner of your eye. You see Petra observing you from where she sits, looking up and down from her sketchpad to study you. You see her friend still looking at you fearfully.

You don’t know how long you stand there for but you decide soon that enough is enough.

You move menacingly toward Petra, intent on doing what you have come to do, allowing the anger and despair and grudge to build up in you once more, before she abruptly stands up and you flinch in surprise and stop in your tracks.

“Tell me miss ghost, how are you able to be climbing out of the television like that?” Petra steps forward, fearlessly but cautiously, as if she’s scared of frightening you off, as if you aren’t capable of snuffing out both their lives in an instant. “Are you having any other special powers? Will you show me?”

You let out another ghoulish moan, damaged vocal chords straining to say something,  _ anything _ . A lungful of water spills from your mouth. Petra hums thoughtfully and sketches again in her book, stepping closer and observing the newly formed puddle at both your feet.

“Petra, what are you doing? It’s dangerous!” Petra’s friend hisses frantically, shakily holding up two pencils in the shape of a cross. A mix of a laugh and a groan escapes you and she squeaks, holding out her makeshift cross further out.

“I do not sense a want of harm from her, Bernie.” Her friend’s mouth drops, eyes finding yours, gesturing at Petra in disbelief and you feel your shoulders move in a vague shrug. You are as confused as her. She pales and squeaks again. “She is a nice ghost, I am sure.”

_ She. Her _ . It’s been so long since someone called you that. It makes you shiver.

“Petra, what the hell.”

“Oh, you must be cold,” Petra says, quickly grabbing the blanket that had fallen to the floor and wrapping it around your shoulders. “This will help you. I will be getting you a towel, you are being drenched! Bernadetta, please be heating up a bowl of chicken soup for her.”

Bernadetta’s jaw drops, incredulous. “We are n-not  _ feeding _ fucking  _ Sadako _ chicken soup!”

“You must be hungry,” Petra says as she leads you to her couch, sitting you down gently and grabbing a towel from across the room. 

Bernadetta groans, realising that Petra has ignored her once again, and shuffles sideways to the kitchen, makeshift cross still at the ready, eyes not leaving your body. “I am sure you have not eaten for a long time.”

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. “ _ Ghrughh… _ ” You settle for groaning again.

Petra puts the towel over your head and a bucket on your lap for your still dripping wet hair.

She then holds your hands, exclaiming worriedly under her breath _ oh you are very cold _ and rubbing them with her own. She brings a hand up to your face, inspecting your pale damp skin and pushing away the wet, straggly hair strands stuck to it.

She tucks your long fringe behind your ears and for the first time ever, you are treated to the full, unfiltered view of your current, unfortunate victim.

Petra is looking at you with an inescapable kindness, eyes scouring your features for injuries and worrying over your complexion, as if you aren’t dead, as if your broken skeleton isn’t at the bottom of a dilapidated, dried-out well, continents away.

As if you are alive. Like you are worth something.

Every bit of malevolence in your ragged body fizzles out in the face of such affection. Her fingers are so  _ very _ warm. You nuzzle against the palm cupped to your cheek.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been held like this.

“How long are you being this way, miss ghost? If you are not minding me asking.”

“ _ Guurhhkhkh, _ ” You shake your head slowly. How long has it been? You don’t remember. Your throat hurts and you lift shaky fingers to touch the torn, slit wounds on your neck. You don’t know if you want to remember.

“You are hurt!” Petra gasps, tugging your hand away from where they were lingering on your wounds. “Bernadetta, we must be calling an ambulance!”

“She’s  _ a ghost _ , Petra. She's d-dead,” Bernadetta stutters as she reappears beside her friend and passes the bowl of warm soup from the furthest possible distance she can be. She looks at Petra with genuine concern before noticing your stare and squeaking again. “N-No offense, Sadako, ma’am, sir.  _ Please don’t kill me. _ ”

“She is not going to be doing the killing, Bernie,” Petra laughs, as if it is inconceivable that you would do such a thing. “She is a nice, beautiful ghost, right miss… Sadako?”

You wrap the blanket tightly around yourself and shake your head. It is soaked through and you feel kind of bad because you’ve leaked water across half the room and you are sure the couch is also drenched, but your disposition is not something you can control.

“ _ Nughhh, _ ” you groan again. “ _ Drroheearh _ .”

Petra frowns. “Apologies, I do not understand.”

“ _ Drohreaaah. _ ” You point to yourself. “ _ Drhoheaah. _ ”

“Oh, you are saying your name?” Petra asks and you nod, exhausted from the effort. She flips through her sketchbook and you catch glimpses of her quick but fairly detailed sketches of you. 

You feel something simmer in you and you suddenly want to crawl back into the TV and hide away in your well forever. Petra flips to a blank page and hands you a pencil.

You hold it shakily, your fingers not used to doing something other than crawling and murdering innocents. And you slowly write.

It takes you awhile; you have forgotten how certain alphabets look and are written, and you get distracted from the bubbly cheery atmosphere of the girl sitting beside you, chin resting on your shoulder, a tan, muscled arm around your waist. You think you might die again.

But soon you’re done, and the letters are in your handwriting, jarring and unfamiliar but large and clear.

D O R O T H E A

Petra smiles. You try to make what you hope is a smile for this girl who has shown you so much warmth in your first meeting.

“It is nice to be meeting you, Dorothea.”

**Author's Note:**

> 10/10 i am down to bang sadako


End file.
